Making Money

ran like hell for his study, where he stood with his back to the door and gloated, an exercise he had just the face for.
    Good old Dad! Of course, that little talk had been back when he was ten, and didn’t have his own lawyer yet, and hadn’t fully embraced the Lavish tradition of prickly and guarded involvement. But Dad had been sensible. He hadn’t just been giving Cosmo advice, he’d been giving him ammunition which could be used against the others. What else was a father for?
    Mr. Bent was…not just Mr. Bent. He was something out of nightmares. At the time the revelation had scared young Cosmo, and later on he’d been ready to sue his father over those sleepless nights, in the very best Lavish tradition, but he’d hesitated and that was just as well. It would all have come out in court and he’d have thrown away a wonderful gift.
    So the Lipwig fellow thought he controlled the bank, did he? Well, you couldn’t run the bank without Mavolio Bent, and by this time tomorrow he, Cosmo Lavish, would own Mr. Bent. Hmm, yes…leave it perhaps a little longer. Another day of dealing with Lipwig’s bizarre recklessness would wind up poor Mr. Bent to the point where Cranberry’s special powers of persuasion would hardly be required. Oh, yes.
    Cosmo pushed his eyebrow up. He was getting the hang of it, he was sure. He’d been just like Vetinari out there, hadn’t he? Yes, he had. The look on the family’s face when he’d told Josephine to shut up! Even the recollection made his spine tingle…
    Was this the time? Yes, just for a minute, perhaps. He deserved it…
    He unlocked a drawer in his desk, reached inside, and pressed the hidden button. On the other side of his desk a secret compartment slid out. From it, Cosmo took a small black skullcap that seemed as good as new. Heretofore was a genius.
    Cosmo lowered the cap onto his head with great solemnity.
    Someone knocked on the study door. This was pointless, since they then slammed it open.
    “Locking yourself in your room again, bro?” said Pucci triumphantly.
    At least Cosmo had strangled the impulse to snatch the cap from his head as if he’d been caught doing something dirty.
    “It was not, in fact, locked, as you see,” he said, “and you are forbidden to come within fifteen yards of me. I have an injunction.”
    “And you are not allowed to be within twenty yards of me, so you broke it first,” said Pucci, pulling up a chair. She straddled it heavily and rested her arms on the back. The wood creaked.
    “I wasn’t the one who moved, I think?”
    “Well, cosmically it’s all the same,” said Pucci. “You know, that’s a dangerous obsession you have there.”
    Now Cosmo took off the cap.
    “I’m simply trying to get inside the man,” he said.
    “A very dangerous obsession.”
    “You know what I mean. I want to know how his mind works.”
    “And this?” Pucci said, waving a hand at the large picture that hung on the wall opposite the desk.
    “William Pouter’s Man with Dog. It’s a painting of Vetinari. Notice how the eyes follow you around the room.”
    “The dog’s nose follows me around the room! Vetinari has a dog?”
    “Had. Wuffles. Died some time ago. There’s a little grave in the palace grounds. He goes there alone once a week and puts a dog biscuit on it.”
    “Vetinari does that?”
    “Yes.”
    “Vetinari the cool, heartless, calculating tyrant?” said Pucci.
    “Indeed!”
    “You’re lying to your sweet dear sister, yes?”
    “You can choose to believe that if you wish.” Cosmo exulted, deep inside. He loved to see that irate-chicken expression of furious curiosity on his sister’s face.
    “Information like that is worth money,” she said.
    “Indeed. And I’m only telling you because it’s useless unless you know where he goes, at what time, and on which day. It just may be, dear sweet Pucci, that what you call my obsession is, in fact, of great practical use. I watch, study, and learn. And I believe that Moist von Lipwig and Vetinari must share some dangerous secret which could even—”
    “But you just weighed in and offered Lipwig a bribe!” You could say this about Pucci: she was easy to confide in, because she never bothered to listen. She used the time to think about what to say next.
    “A ridiculously small one. And a threat, too. And so now he thinks he knows all about me,” said Cosmo, not even trying not to look smug. “And I know nothing about him, which is even more interesting. How